Scribbles

Facebook has done a wonderful job of creating an application that feeds into human’s need for personal recognition and a feeling of awareness about others around then, and not much more. In the past week 14 people have asked me why I no longer post as much as I used to, and after thinking and thinking I realised that asides from my total disillusionment, it had become a right bore. Mind you, this has nothing to do with Facebook itself... although I call it ' facebook fatigue' I think users on Facebook tend to try to make Facebook an extension of their internal Confidos, and other than that, just try to share boring life details or thoughts in an attention power grab. I’m guilty of it and so are you. After you read this, you should be cured. Watching your friends and acquaintances on Facebook is a bit like watching a long-form documentary about Farming. While you don’t know all of the specifics and details about either, you can kind of figure how it all

After a couple of strawberry daiquiris and a month without posting I feel I have enough material to start posting again . You should know that I finally racked up enough courage to cross the border into South Africa... ahhh the land of milk and honey. This is not true. South Africa is a violent vicious place, where any indication that you are not a local marks you out for mugging and blatant xenophobic intolerance. Why just the other day, when I had at last mustered enough courage to use public transport, i got into a bus and sat beside a wizened old fella I felt safe beside him. That is, until I opened my mouth.  I asked him what the fare was and he replied in a series of clicks and grunts. I gave him a blank stare. And indicated by gesturing to my ears that I did not speak the language. Dear reader, I cannot begin to describe to you the look of disdain that flashed across the toothless man’s face, only to be replaced by unbridled disgust. Flas

My 21 st birthday anniversary is in a couple of month’s time, to that end I have decided to start taking my fitness a little more seriously. Sit-ups, press-ups, lunges, and two hour walks. For the first two days, I stuck to this regime, until I felt all the muscles in my body start to give.  Day three, my stomach muscles felt like someone was pulling them end to end and hammering tunelessly at them. So I dropped the sit-ups, I figured my stomach was flat and taut enough. On day four, I had to ditch the lunges. The muscles in my thighs finally gave, all that tugging and pulling to get toned legs wasn’t worth it, besides who needs exercises when you do not have a car? I do not. So seven days later I am down to the walks alone. Let’s see how long that’s going to last. --------- Having said that. Something has been bugging me for the past couple of weeks. I cannot seem able to bring myself to go to church. Hush now, do not start judging yet. Listen

We follow our miscreants (read part 1) as they deal with the demands of sharing power, and office life. ----------- On Thursday, it was reported that ‘mole people’ had allegedly killed the Bob (Bob) and the Morgan (Morgan) and Zimbabweans could not make up their minds about how they felt about that. The story was a hoax. However, realising that any publicity is good publicity the two quickly launched into an I-am-braver-than-you fest, with the Bob claiming that his escape from the mole people showed that he was brave enough to lead the people for another four years. The Morgan not to be outdone launched a counter attack. Asked to describe the Morgan’s bravery compared to his the Bob quickly raised his hands estimated that it was not very high and was the equivalent to the fist of a foetus. Upon further questioning, the Bob admitted that he had in fact never seen the fist of a foetus. Upon hearing this Morgan grew furious and demanded that Bob es

I have a list of sports that i esteem so low i feel none of them belong in the Olympics and rightly so. Arm wrestling is not one of them. I tried arm wrestling once and I am not sure whether it was the mix of intimidation and humiliation that made me lose, or that for all the nineteen years of my life I had lived in a state of heightened self-delusion resulting in my humiliating loss. It was not C's strength that I found intimidating; it was the starry, retarded way her eyes focused on me, like Mike Tyson getting ready to feed. I didn't even try to put up a fight the first few times, but the celebratory high-fiving and hooting, combined with half a gummy ear's torso still stuck to my eardrum, were reason to grow delirious. "Fine, you fucker, let's go!" I yelled. Getting into position on the floor while my friend T video-recorded what would inevitably turn into a violent episode of The L Word. I hoped I could turn my anger and humiliation

Looking back, I realise that I had a smooth labour; my water broke whilst I was on my way out of the house. I didn't panic. My aunt did. She freaked out. Her scream rang out for miles and miles. I did not see what the fuss was about; it wasn't like I was not the first one to give birth. But there she was rolling on the floor and wailing like a banshee. Odd, birth is such a beautiful thing. When mama came running she was clutching her purse in one hand and her holding her phone to her ear, "Chiiko!" ("What's happening?") I remember shrugging nonchalantly and turning to pack my nappy bag, "Nothing hey, auntie is crying because my water just broke," "Oh God, are you alright?" she asked rushing to my side. "I'm fine mama, it's just I can't find any baby clothes, I totally forgot to buy, all I have is one of the old nappies you used to use and a bib, I doubt the baby will be needing that anytime soon but let me just pack i

I suspect, because of the blatant disregard I have showed my blog over the past couple of weeks that some of you have upon realising that there was no new post on the blog tried to put in words your disappointment, at such total disregard.  If so, you are not alone. Every morning, I wake up and try to squeeze my head of a little bit of awesomeness. Now instead of my hourly catatonic flashes of inspiration, I seem now to only be getting them in fortnightly dribbles that seem to fade before I can get a firm hold of them. And because of that the blog has suffered. Here is what I imagine some guy I afford a comedic reprieve might have gone through because of my insensitivity. ------------- Dear V, During lunchtime, today, I tried to read your blog. And so, I waited for my boss to leave, when I was absolutely positive that she had left the building, I settled under my desk with my laptop in tow. After taking a bite from the apple momsy had packed for me lunch, I logg

I  owe the gardener’s wife three bucks and live in perpetual fear that she will ask me for the money. In three weeks, she has not but I have noticed the way she looks at me, as if she wants to come over and talk to me, and ask for her money or something. The other day i was hooting the car trying to get N to get out of the house when I saw her coming.  The thoughts that raced through my head ranged from a panicked scramble to get out the car through other door when it dawned on me that the windows were not tinted. So instead, I grabbed my bag and fumbled through it, looking for... something. I figured that if she asked me about it she would think that i had thought to pay her back myself. Instead, she stuck her head into the car through a tiny opening in the window. “Are you hooting for me?” “Ummm no,” I rattled my bag, held it to my ear put it on my lap and resumed my rifling. When I looked up, she was gone. I suppose it was because of the rain pelt

Last night, I met a guy who, in a space of two sentences had labelled me bitter, a further three sentences on after mentioning that I blogged, he said that I had a puffed out ego adding that I was an attention whore who felt the need for people to agree with her. His friend then added that it made me seem insecure; as I seemed to need validation form other people. I agreed. Understand that blogging is vanity publishing, and the majority of people who do it want to be heard. Although, I hardly think they want to agreed with, at least not all the time . What this fine gentleman- who after a couple of more sentences I labelled a neurotic pervert with borderline misogynistic tendencies who felt the need to put people down in order to hide his own insecurities- failed to ask was why I blogged. Sure, I like people to agree with me but at the core of it all, I genuinely love writing; lists, diary entries, doodles on paper and more importantly stuff on this blog. Granted I do not always have t

Once, a local newspaper reported the bizarre story of an adulterous couple that got stuck together during sex. The husband had done that to them. I dint understand how but a nerd friend of mine informed me that if during sex a woman is stressed enough her vagina will close up. Bollocks. That was a simple case of witchcraft. The husband confirmed it by going to a witchdoctor (n’anga) and getting them unstuck.  It worked. My nerd friend whispered that the perceived danger had been removed and she had no reason to fear so her vagina had loosened and let her ‘lover’ go. I love that word, lover... it seems so lovey dovey, so yours truly innit? Bollocks. I digress.  Years later when I moved towns, I heard of a man who could let you see who had stolen from you. He would lead you into an ill lit room sit you in a chair and hand you a mirror. Then the rest was all you, “Mirror mirror in my hand, show the fiend who stole my beast/bra/phone/money/shoes.”

I have often wondered how the majority of people that enter talent shows convince themselves that they are talented. Most of them are not. Note, the only talent shows that I watch are American ones. Your wailing gay men, who think their singing is absolutely fabulous only to have Simon Cowell tell them they sound like two hippies in a bar. A shrieking child, clutching her head and wailing like Mariah Carey on crack.  her mother  watching proudly(from behind the stage)  with tears streaming  down her cheeks,  and I sitting in my lounge wondering when the farce is going to end, inevitably it does, ten seconds into the torrid performance Piers Morgan sounds his buzzer and nonchalantly announces that not only does she indeed sound like Mariah on crack. You would also think that she was dueting with a dying dog. The said mother rushes on stage, gives our hapless judge a withering look, and quickly bundles her now hysterical daughter away. Now between Americ

Lately I have been neglecting my blog. This is entirely due to no fault of mine whatsoever. Nevertheless, I have reasons why and they are good ones. First, I have been spending time looking for traditional healers. You would think that they would be easy to find, au contraire. The first one I went to refused to see me because I was wearing a sleeveless dress with neon colours splashed across it. The explanation I got had something to do with the ancestors not being too pleased with my tempting of their medium by flaunting my skin. The Headlines would have clearly read: The Bone Thrower  Saw Thigh and Got a Boner Man sees red after seeing flesh uncovered The second n’anga I went to was a skinny light woman, who did not have te decency to at least dress up in her full regalia but instead carried on with her dusting and polishing whilst N and I began our consultation, N: You have heard of those people going around the country eating peoples intestines? [bl

A shadow painted whereyes, a shadow must fall. the cow's breath not forgotten...   life is painted noly red, green, but also in grey and dard. Let us welcome life with smiles whatever it is. Green Dreams, gift of the gods, and in this achievement effort. both inward and outward. must play a great part Think me not unkind and rude, that I walk done in grove and glen; I go to the god of the wood. Best wishes for my Best friends and welcome To our little happy world. When you have problem, Remember me.please. Cool Dogs Welcome to Cool Dog's Happy little world BEST WISHES FOR YOU I now dend you infinite blessing at every each other for youth and joy! Drip such acrid fragrance. Miffy 45th Anniversary in 2000 Skipper's Schedule Fishing the seas for a fishy story for the fishmonger. Child Wonder The only excercise I get is when I take the studs out of one shirt and put them in another New Taste Many reason have been put forward for napolean fame, apart from those p